


Crash Those Galaxies & Flatline

by crowboy13



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, Hospitalization, Hospitals, M/M, adam lives fuck you, chainshipping - Freeform, hopefully?, it gets gayer, probably other characters too who knows, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-26 22:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12567636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowboy13/pseuds/crowboy13
Summary: He was totally going to die in here.[Or, a sort of fix-it fic for the first Saw movie, involving sexual/romantic tension, hospitals, psychological trauma, and questionable plot. I'm ignoring the rest of the franchise for this, okay?]





	1. He was totally going to die in here.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my dears. I seem to have found myself in over my head with the Saw fandom, especially Chainshipping. What can I say - a boy likes what a boy likes. I can't promise anything (especially since I'm making this all up as I go along), but I want to try writing a fix-it and getting-together fic for these two fuckups. Hopefully it isn't too awful and OOC. 
> 
> [PS: The title is a lyric from Emma Ruth Rundle's song 'Marked For Death' which is a particular fave of mine, and feels somewhat appropriate.]

Adam couldn't see anything, not even his hand when he waved it in front of his face, except the tiny crack of light coming from underneath the sliding door at the other end of the bathroom. The air smelled of iron, thick and sickly, but colder than it was before; he was starting to consider trying to put his shirt back on. It didn't matter that it was soaked in blood now, did it? It was just like the rest of his clothes. He might as well complete the look. 

He was totally going to die in here. 

He couldn't see the time any more, but Adam could safely hazard a guess that it had been around six hours since the Jigsaw Killer had stood up -  _he was the goddamned corpse the whole time, what the fuck_ \- and left him there in the dark, left him there to rot. Adam had spent the first two hours or so (probably longer, if he was being honest with himself), still trying to call for help, calling for the police, for Lawrence, even for Jigsaw himself. He could barely remember anything he'd said, but his throat was rubbed raw from screaming. 

Now, however long he'd been stuck here, he'd given up. Hell, he was pretty sure he'd pissed his pants at some point, if the sharp smell that had showed up around three hours in was anything to go by. His stomach had moved past grumbling, moved past that hungry nausea, and was now cramping up, sending stabbing pains shooting upwards to meet angrily with those emanating from his wounded shoulder. He couldn't help but wonder: had Lawrence deliberately missed his head or his heart, or was it just a happy accident? Probably the latter, he figured, considering that the doctor seemed to have abandoned his promise to send help for the younger man. 

Whatever. He hadn't wanted to live in years - why should he start now? Survival instinct wasn't something that Adam was particularly known for, and he wasn't going to back out on his defining characteristics now, even if there wasn't anyone around to watch him suffer. The little red light on the camera behind the mirror had switched off a few hours back, so he knew he wasn't being watched. His death wasn't even a spectacle any more. 

It was oddly tiring, doing nothing for hours. When you chose to do nothing, like Adam often would've done back in his teenage years, there was something satisfying about it. But when you were  _forced_ into inactivity? That shit sucked. His ass was aching from being pressed into the dirty tiled floor for hours on end, and his fingers itched to do  _something_. The happiest moment in the last twelve hours of his life had been those few seconds where he'd held on to Lawrence for dear life, gripped him tighter than death ever could, clawed his hands across the other man in an attempt to make him stay. The absence of any other life in the room was palpable, now, and it made Adam feel like he couldn't breathe. 

Motherfucking Dr Gordon. Adam  _knew_ he shouldn't have trust him.  _Promises and selflessness, my ass._ And yet, he still couldn't get himself to feel bad about placing so much faith in the doctor. There had been a few moments back there where he'd really thought the older man cared.  _Whatever._ He guessed that was just the effect of trauma, of desperation; some kind of life-or-death imprinting. 

He knew it was hopeless from the start. 

~~~~~

A couple more hours further into his isolation, Adam had started to cry again. 

His chest was heaving and lurching with every breath, sobs forcing their way out of his mouth like they'd felt just as trapped in there as he was in this damn bathroom. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the unhappily familiar feeling of tears mixing with snot and saliva on his face and neck, some of it dripping onto his sweat-stained t-shirt, too. He felt sick and breathless, head pounding so loudly that he couldn't even make out most of what he was shouting about any more. 

"... Fuck you! ... Lawrence! ... Help! ... What the fuck! ... Someone help me! ..." He kept going, choking on his words, knowing deep down that no one would hear them anyway. Hew could've sworn his throat was bleeding from how loud he was yelling, muscles tearing from how violently his sobs were wracking his entire body, but it was all just to fill the sticky silence that had replaced Lawrence's voice all those hours ago. 

He could barely feel his shoulder injury now; it simply felt cold, way too cold, like when you shove your naked hand into a pile of snow just to see how long you can hold it there. He wished that he hadn't broken his own hacksaw, so he could cut the damn thing off, warm himself up. He was so cold. 

"... Adam? Excuse me, is there someone down here? Is that Adam?" 

The voices and footsteps started to fade into his peripheral consciousness after a while, swimming in his ears and making him dizzy. He just cried harder. 

"Fuck, I'm going crazy!" Adam wailed, yanking at his hair, fingers sliding through the grease and grime. "I'm finally going properly fucking crazy! Great! Hahaa--" His manic laughter was cut short by a fit of coughs, the pain wrapping itself around his neck and making him wheeze. He still didn't truly believe it when the door started to open. 

"Adam?" a voice came, a vague silhouette floating in the doorway, followed by a few others. "Where are the paramedics, are they here yet? Tell them to hurry the hell up!" 

"Oh God, oh God, oh my God, fuck," Adam was groaning as he felt shockingly warm, life-temperature hands touch his shoulder and forehead. He didn't even have the energy when a finger traced the edge of the exit wound by his shoulder blade, still rambling blurrily into the flashlights of the figures around him. "Fuck, oh my God, stop, Lawrence, what is happening, I don't--" 

"Adam, stop!" The distinctly feminine voice cut through his mind's haze, and he whipped his head up to find the source of the words. "Adam, stop talking. We need to stabilise you and get you to a hospital as soon as possible, but you need to be calmer for that. Do you think you can calm down a little?" Round, brown eyes were staring worriedly down at him, framed by an unfamiliar yet welcome face. 

"Hospital?" he croaked, scrabbling on the floor to get his bearings. "What do you mean? How did you find me, I--I was locked in here, I don't--how did you--" 

"Dr Lawrence Gordon, the other man who was in here with you," the woman replied kindly steading Adam as he tried prematurely to stumble to his feet. "He was unconscious when our first team found him, but we woke up for a minute or so. He told us that you were still locked up in here." 

Adam felt some awful, sickening sense of relief trickle through his bloodstream, mouth gaping open. "Lawrence? He, is he--is he okay? How did he--how--" 

"Shh," the woman - a police officer, he realised now - said, silencing him. "We can explain everything to you once you're in a more stable condition, I promise." Adam found himself entranced by the black corkscrews of her hair in his dazed and disbelieving state. "Now, let's get you out of here." 

Almost as if to protect himself from whatever method they were going to use to get him out of the shackles, he slipped from consciousness, liquid black drowning his tired eyes. 


	2. What about the guilt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is so fucking short, i've got major writer's block so i thought i'd upload this one as it is and try to get a better one out next time

Despite everything - the pain, his family, Jigsaw - the thing that Lawrence truly felt the most guilty about was this: 

That night, those hours of captivity spent with Adam, had brought Lawrence the widest range of human emotion that he'd felt in  _years_. 

When he had finally cut himself free of the chain, bleeding to death or not, crawling over to the other man and grasping him like a lifeline was the most honest connection he could think of having in his life. He felt ashamed; he felt like Alison had been right all along, about his stale impressions of feelings and empathy, about his lack of passion. Apparently it had taken brutal psychological torture and excruciating self-inflicted agony to really get the emotional part of his brain working. 

He'd always liked to think that he was an empathetic man. He made a living of saving people's lives, after all: wasn't that enough? Now, he wasn't so sure. Compared to the raw  _feeling_ of being in that bathroom - covered in various kinds of filth, screaming at anyone who might be listening - the past however many years of his life just... fell flat. It was as if he'd been watching the events of his existence unfold from a distance, through a lens filter that dulled all the colours, and now that filter had been removed. And he hated himself for it. 

He couldn't remember coming to, which he wasn't really in any state to ponder. He'd been spending the past day or so slipping in and out of the world of the living, always right on the edge of the void, absently watching the nurses go by, having his vitals checked frequently. He couldn't feel any of the previous pain in his right foot, which he supposed was nice. Come to think of it, he couldn't feel much of anything. 

The numbness and sterility of the hospital was confusing to Lawrence now, not just because all his senses were muffled, but because he had just been dragged into it from the most intense experience of his entire life. During those moments when he could gather his thoughts together to be somewhat cohesive, far and few between that these moments were, he could his mind drifting toward Adam. Had they found him? Had they gotten him out safely? Was he here right now, in this very hospital? Lawrence felt bizarrely angry that the younger man wasn't in the room with him now, making snide remarks at every stupid thing the doctor said. 

But Lawrence wasn't speaking aloud, of course. Not that he could tell. Perhaps he'd been mumbling in his sleep - he did that a lot, according to Alison, thought she hadn't mentioned it for a couple of years - or was too out of it to recall what he'd been saying to the hospital staff. He wouldn't put it past himself. He'd seen plenty of delirious blood-loss victims in his time, and found it somewhat ironic that he was now a part of that statistic. He bet he looked hilarious to the average passerby. 

He thought he could remember his wife and daughter coming to see him at one point, the feeling of Diana's small, warm hand on his a vague memory buzzing around his head. They were safe, then. That was good. It was all going to be okay, should he survive this. And he would, he thought: the nurses seemed calm, when he could get a clear look at their faces, and as far as he could tell he wasn't bleeding any more. He certainly couldn't afford to. 

As a heavy darkness dragged his eyelids down again, Lawrence sent a little silent prayer to whatever entity his parents had talked to him about as a child that Adam was safe and well, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment, I'd appreciate it! Anything you'd like to see in future chapters? Feedback? Ramblings of your pain in relation to Adam being canonically dead? I'll read it all.


End file.
